Confessions
by erika red
Summary: The brutal rape and murder of a Senator's daughter takes Goren and Eames on a bizarre chase. Mild B&A. Ch. 9 up. Please R&R.
1. The Book Collector

_Disclaimer: I know zip about forensic science. Please forgive any blatant inaccuracies as poetic license. And.. of course, I don't own these amazing characters._

**Thursday, December 8. 1:12 pm: Major Case Headquarters**

"What the hell _is _this? I thought we were investigating the murder of a senator's daughter, not the Catholic church." Deakins scowled at his two best detectives. The dynamic duo, the best team in his department, Goren and Eames.

"Wouldn't you know, Danielle ran away two months ago. The Senator told everyone she was on a much needed vacation so as not to create any negative publicity for himself.. what a dad." Eames shook her head.

"She ran .. here. Shacked up with a guy and wound up turning tricks in exchange for his protection. Danielle wasn't his only 'girlfriend.'"

"Detectives... a whore house is one thing, but--" Carver began to argue, but Goren held up his hand, a gesture Carver had no choice but to obey. He sat back with a patient sigh.

"Apparently, she got involved with _this _guy," Goren slapped a glossy on Deakins' desk. Both the captain and the ADA moved forward to look. A attractive young man smiled up at them.

"Robert Hunt. He.. teaches elementary school in Brooklyn, at Immaculate Heart." Goren handed them a manila file, and crossed his arms. "He's a pillar of his community. A regular saint among sinners. He lectors on Sundays, he tutors. He's only twenty four."

"And he's your suspect?" Carver looked up, incredulous.

"He's an absolute saint from everything we were told at Immaculate. He does have sealed juvenile records, though." Eames said, looking at Carver.

"Sealed juvenile records are sealed for a reason," Carver stood up. "I need more than this to unseal them. Find someone who's willing to talk about what he's done, find me something that links him concretely to the murder, and a motive, and then we'll discuss this. But I can't make a case against him alone with this, much less him _with _the Arch Dioceses protecting him."

"Senator Sparks is pushing hard on the DA to wrap this up." Deakins sighed, and closed the folder. "Why don't you two grab lunch and recharge."

**Monday, December 5, 5:04 am (3 days earlier): Near a Dumpster Behind a Really Good Chinese Restaurant in Manhattan.**

"Why wasn't SVU called in on this?"

"They were. This is major case, though. The vic... A Senator's daughter. I'll be rooting through a dumpster if you need me."

"I wish I could sound so cheerful. What time is it, anyway?" Eames shook her watch down towards her wrist. White latex gloves covered her hands, protecting the scene from her finger prints, but not protecting her hands from the cold. She shivered and tried to wake up.

"Chai latte, the largest they sell." Her partner nudged a giant steaming paper cup towards her, and she took it gratefully.

"Did I ever tell you, you are my _best friend?_" Eames smiled up at him. Goren was almost comically tall compared to his petite blonde partner. He smiled down at her, his own giant cup dwarfed by his large hands.

"I bet you say that to all the guys who bring you chai tea at five am."

"Don't be jealous." She set her cup down carefully next to where CSU had set up their gear, and knelt next to the corpse of Danielle Sparks.

Goren fingered an angry red bite mark above the girl's left breast. Even before the rape, she hadn't been wearing much. A pair of tiny black pvc shorts, the kind that zippered all the way in half from front to back, were tangled at her ankles. Her top was cut neatly in two and her face had swelled where her assailant had hit her a few times.

"Goren," Eames was kneeling on the girl's right side, while her partner inspected a ring on the girls left hand. He looked up at her, his lips pursed in his usual thoughtful frown. "Look at this," She pushed the body up, with his help, and pointed at the body's right hand. The fingers were bloodied, and the nails were missing, or in pieces.

"This isn't defensive," Goren muttered.

"Her hand was tucked _behind _her, and there's barely any blood on the ground. If she died here, it was from the cold." Eames shivered.

"Rigor and the temperature are going to make it pretty tough to get anything else. Let's get her into the ME." Goren stood, and held out a hand for his partner, though he knew she didn't need it. "Let's wrap her up," He called.

**The Medical Examiner, sometime later that day.**

"I haven't done the autopsy yet, but I'd say she was knocked out before she found her way to that alley, and probably died of exposure." The M.E. sighed. "She was probably unconscious when she was raped, and before you ask, I didn't find anything. No fluids, no hairs. Just bruising.. here, and here. He probably bit her during intercourse.. the angle is right."

Goren was looking at the bite mark again, and contorted himself so that his head was parallel to the body, eyeballing the bite. "Could you estimate how tall he is, based on the location of this bite?"

"_Assuming _he did bite her during intercourse, I might be able to guess."

"Let's assume ... for a second." Goren fixed her with a cool look.

"A little shorter than average, maybe ... 5'6".. 7".. but I hate to assume things."

**Sparks Residence, Midday.**

Mrs. Sparks was an attractive woman, and tasteful. She was undeniably a Senator's wife.

"John's in Washington this week.. Oh god.." She sank into the couch and wiped her eyes with a kleenex.

"Mrs. Sparks, I am so sorry," Eames paused, leaning forward. "Do you know why your daughter was in Brooklyn last night?"

Mrs. Sparks shook her head. "No. Danni... we hadn't heard from her. She ... ran away. In October." The woman's features crumpled as fresh tears began to form. "Oh god.. I knew we should have called someone, but John... John didn't want to _raise a fuss,_" She spit out her last words, "He said he'd take care of it." She sniffed. "Well, I guess there's nothing to take care of now."

"Did you hear anything from your daughter while she was gone?"

"She called... three weeks ago, to tell me not to worry." Mrs. Sparks snorted derisively. "And now _this._ I worried..." She looked up at Eames, her expression pleading. "I wanted to find her, and bring her home."

"Your husband wouldn't let you?"

"He didn't want the publicity, it would hurt the campaign. He said he would find her."

"Did he say how?"

"No." She swallowed. "He just promised."

"Can you think of anyone else she might have contacted? Any friends? A boyfriend?"

"Dani didn't have a boyfriend. She was ... aloof. She knew how to put on a happy face, but she didn't have many friends here."

Goren had been standing behind them, looking over the dozens of pictures that sat on the baby grand piano. Sunlight shone weakly through the bitter winter cold.

"This is Danielle," He said, holding up a silver framed photograph. He swiftly came around, and sat down next to the grieving mother.

"Yes. This summer."

"Who is this with her?"

"That's Rob Hunt." Her shoulders slumped with the defeated exhaustion Eames never quite got used to seeing.

"What kind of relationship did he have with Danielle?"

"They were close. Grew up together. He was like her brother. He's a good boy. He's really pulled himself together and overcome a lot of challenges." She took the photograph and touched her finger to the smiling image of her daughter.

"What kind of challenges?" Eames asked, looking up.

Mrs. Sparks shrugged. "He grew up ... on the other side of the tracks, so to speak. His parents became successful when he was eight or nine... that's when the family moved to our side..."

"Side of the tracks?" Goren was nodding. He took the picture from her hands, and gazed at it, before setting it on the coffee table in front of them.

"Well, thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Sparks." Goren stood up, and Eames followed suit.

**Immaculate Heart Elementary School, Brooklyn. That afternoon.**

"Mr. Hunt is teaching a class right now." A pretty secretary smiled at the detectives.

"Oh, we'll wait, if that's okay," Goren smiled at Eames.

"We've heard some impressive things about him," Eames said.

"He's amazing, and the kids just love him," The young woman gushed. "How old is your little one?"

"He's turning five next month," Goren grinned.

"Oh, here he is. Mr. Hunt, this is Mr. and Mrs. Goren. They're thinking of enrolling their son with us and wanted to talk to you,"

"Certainly," The young man smiled. He reached over and shook their hands. "If you want to follow me, we can talk in my office."

"After you, Mrs. Goren," Goren whispered. Eames nudged him in the ribs, and he grinned.

Hunt showed them to a small, but neat office. Eames took a seat while Goren surveyed the space.

"Your secretary misunderstood," Eames said, "we aren't parents of a prospective student, we're detectives. I'm Alex Eames, and this is my partner, Robert Goren."

A puzzled look crossed Hunt's face, but disappeared, just as quickly. "Well.. how can I help you?"

"We understand you're close with Danielle Sparks?"

"That's right, we grew up together. Practically best friends.. still are." He grinned, his gaze holding hers.

"Have you spoken to her recently?" Eames leaned forward.

"No." He shook his head. "Why, did something happen to her?" He sat back slightly.

"We found her this morning."

"Found.. oh my god..." His eyes continued to meet Eames,' ignoring her partner completely.

"It seems she was assaulted and froze to death."

"Jesus..."

"When was the last time you talked to her?"

"A few days ago," His eyes were suddenly on his desk, and his hand pressed to his forehead. "She wanted to talk. She sounded .. she was really depressed. I was worried about her. But she wouldn't tell me where she was over the phone. She wanted to see me.. but I had ... damn it." Tears glistened in his eyes, and he blinked hard.

"You didn't see or talk to her since?"

"No. And she refused to tell me where she was staying. I had my ideas, though. Where's a pretty girl going to go when she has no job, no savings, and doesn't want to be found?" He shrugged.

"What is it that you teach, Mr. Hunt?" Goren turned, holding a notebook cracked open in front of him.

"English.. literature to the older kids. An honors class."

"You seem like a very bright young man, I was reading through your notes here. You have some good ideas for lesson plans."

"That's actually a private notebook," Hunt reached for it, but Goren smiled, and stepped back. The difference in their height was immediately apparent.

"I'm sorry, you're right." Goren returned the notebook. Hunt looked annoyed at best. "You do have a fantastic book collection."

"I just.. picked them up, I guess." Hunt looked flustered. A puzzled look crossed Goren's face.

"Just picked them up?"

"Yeah. I like books. I read a lot, so I just buy them." Hunt moved back towards his desk, and slipped the notebook into a drawer. "I have a lot of work to do..."

"Oh, of course. We'll get out of your way. Thank you for talking to us."


	2. Crime and Punishment

"That.. was weird." Eames rubbed her hands together and shivered as they stepped outside of Immaculate Heart.

"A book collector doesn't just '_buy books'" _Mused Goren. "His collection... it was impressive. Very impressive for a person his age."

"Are you sure it's his?"

"It's his office. Everything else in it belongs to him. I can't imagine he would have a collection like that on loan from someone."

"Mm. Did you watch his face at all?" Eames stuck her hands in her pockets.

"Not as much as you did."

"We'll have to interview him again," She sighed. "After we talk to the Senator. He's supposed to be back late tonight. We're scheduled to talk to him bright and early in the morning."

"What did you see when you talked to Hunt?"

"I don't know enough about him, but his expression was like an etch-a-sketch. At first he was charming, then, _whoosh _he was sad."

"He wasn't genuine?" Goren furrowed his brow.

"No, he _was _genuine. He was almost crying, but trying to keep it in. He wasn't faking that." She shrugged. "It was just how he went from subject to subject. There was something off about him."

"I don't doubt it." Goren was puzzled and a bit surprised. Generally, it was his intuition that guided them through cases. It was going to be an interesting role reversal when they tried to explain their progress to the captain.

**Back at headquarters, early evening.**

"Hunt implied that she was living in a whore house in our interview, but he didn't know for sure. He just couldn't think of any other place she could have stayed." Eames bit her lip.

"That's all you've got?" Deakins wasn't annoyed, just stressed.

"We want to talk to him again." Goren said quietly.

"Why?"

"There's something off about him." Eames spoke up. "And he's the only person Danielle was close to. She kept in touch with him. I think he knows more than he's letting on. But maybe someone has him scared. I honestly don't know. I just got a weird vibe from him."

"So we have the runaway daughter of a Senator, beaten and raped found dead in an alley way, no suspects, and a 'weird vibe.'" Deakins sat on the edge of his desk. "Well, I'm glad we had this chat. I have every confidence in your abilities."

"Captain --" Eames began to protest, but Goren shook his head.

"You're talking to the Senator tomorrow morning, right?"

"That's right."

"Good. It sounds like he's a big piece of this puzzle." Deakins looked at his watch. "It's quarter after five, and freezing outside. My wife is making pasta, and we're opening a vintage. It's been a bitch of a day. Why don't you get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow after you've talked to Sparks."

Goren helped Eames into her coat, and together they stepped onto the elevator.

"I think we're going to have to start canvassing tomorrow. We should have done that today." Eames sighed.

"I dunno. Something about this ... I don't think our guy was just some John. I think he knew her. The bite mark, her nails. He left the birthstone ring on her finger. Her diamond stud earrings... he wasn't interested in robbing her. I'm not sure he intended to kill her."

"He just wanted to punish her." Eames stood up as the doors opened.

"Wanna go for a drink?" Goren asked.

"Yeah. I need something, or this is going to bug me all night."


	3. Implications

**6:00pm: The Only Bar in NYC that doesn't have a smoking ban.**

"I wanna know where she's been staying for three months. I wanna know who she was with.. I want to talk to her pimp. If Hunt knows something, he's in no hurry to give it up." Eames bit into a cheese fry, and sipped her pint.

Goren had a cigarette burning in the glass ashtray on the table. He had a plate smeared with ketchup in front of him, and had already finished half of his pint. A pitcher sat near the edge of the table.

"Give me one of those," Eames reached for the worn pack of cigarettes Goren had left on the table.

"Since when do you smoke?" He looked over at her.

"Since this case and the weather are giving me a headache." She shrugged, and let him light it for her. He slid the ashtray so that it sat between them.

"You think it's Hunt, and you feel guilty for thinking that."

"I can't come up with a single good reason for that hunch."

"Doesn't mean it's wrong. Come on, Alex, you've been my partner for... how long?"

"Five years?"

"Forever. And you think I'm gonna judge you for having a gut feeling?" He laughed, and dipped another fry in the ketchup. "Look, it's the first day of the case. Everyone's leaning on us to wrap this up.. until we talk to Sparks, there's not a whole lot else we can do. A few rookies went out and asked around today."

"I know, Bobby.. but I feel oddly out of my depth, and so do you."

"So let's work on our theory. You think it's Hunt. _Why?"_ He took a long drag on his cigarette.

"He's this great kid from the wrong side of the tracks. His parents worked their butts off to pay for the house they moved into. I'll bet you no one else's parents worked that hard. Dads, maybe, but moms?" She shrugged. "He's cocky. And charming. He goes out of his way to create a good impression. .. His still a kid from the wrong side with something to prove. When we talked to him, though, he ignored you, and then.. the etch-a-sketch thing. I can't get a grip on this guy."

"If it makes you feel any better, neither can I." Goren sat back. "I'll say this, though. Whoever killed Danielle wanted to teach her a lesson."

"That's an appropriate choice of words."

"He was angry at her. He wanted to hurt her... but she was unconscious when he raped her. Huh." Goren rolled the cigarette between his fingers, finishing the last sip of his beer.

"He was angry when he raped her. The bite mark.. he felt she owed it to him. Do you think he intended her to be unconscious?" Eames scowled.

"...I don't know."

"This isn't helping my headache." She refilled their glasses. "She had restraint marks... faint ones, like someone had looped rope around her .. tied to a chair, probably. That's when he did a number on her hand."

**10 pm (four hours later) The detectives have moved on to shots, though the conversation hasn't deviated much, (except for a brief digression into Eame's familiarity with tiny, black PVC shorts that zip entirely in half -- no insights gained, just allusions).**

"It's only the first day, but I can't wait for this case to be over."

"I'll drink to that." Goren slid her a shot.

"Thanks. It's a wonder there's anything nice left in this world. It's weird to go home on holidays, where everything is so _nice _and normal. People don't kill each other for fucked up reasons. People aren't brutal and horrible." She downed her shot.

"Alex."

"What? God, that one burned." She winced.

"People _aren't _deviants. Most of the time, they're in horrible situations that turn them into people they don't want to be." He slid his hand towards hers, and held it. "The rest are sociopaths. Antisocial people who don't comprehend anyone else's needs but their own. Or.. or driven to it by some quirk that is cruelly manipulated by fate, or someone who is supposed to care about them. But overall? The world is _not _cruel and cold and horrible."

Eames pulled her hand back to rub her arms. Goren leaned back and flicked the ash of his cigarette. The ashtray was brimming with butts, now.

"Today? I wonder."

"This case has you really spooked." Goren scowled at her.

"Nah. Just too many cases. Maybe I need a vacation."

"You don't take vacations, you get bored. It's not work, it's this case, this killer. You're not supposed to bias yourself by using past cases... or experiences to judge new ones. But I break that rule all the time,"

"Hunt killed her. Sparks ... maybe he put him up to it, or maybe he just found out where she was and sent Hunt to find her. Something went wrong."

"Go on."

"Danielle wanted so badly to do what _she _wanted to do, instead of what she had to do to maintain a good public image. She was so lonely, and so miserable there, walking around in her dad's shadow all the time. She couldn't be a normal kid. He's running in the next election. The media is ruthless. It's not just what he does and has done, but it's about her, too. So she ran away." Eames rubbed her forehead.

"All Hunt ever wanted was what Danielle threw away."

"He hated her for it. He found her, thought she was misguided, somehow, got lured away from home by some bad guy. But she wanted to go. It was her idea. And that set him off." She drew another cigarette from his near empty pack.

"What about the rape?"

"She was never intimate with him. But she was a prostitute. She refused to have sex with him, but any guy could have her for a few bucks. That must have really pissed him off. Everything this guy wanted, she threw away."


	4. Switching

**Tuesday, December 6, 10:00 am: Immaculate Heart Elementary School.**

"Mr. Hunt came in .. around eleven yesterday morning."

"What time does he usually come in?" Eames asked.

"It varies.." The secretary smiled. "He's definitely the absent-minded professor type."

"So.. he's forgetful." Goren smiled.

"He loses track of time," She nodded. "Forgets appointments a lot. He has a lot of things on his mind."

They made their way to Hunt's office to wait for him.

"This is a good school. Not a top school, but a good school." Eames murmured.

"These... _eccentricities, _his.. absentmindedness, his always having something on his mind.."

"Strange behavior for a 24 year old."

Goren nodded.

"I wonder what else he's _forgotten_ about." Eames said.

Hunt walked in, looking surprised and a bit flustered. He set down a pile of papers on his desk and smiled at the detectives.

"How can I help you?"

"Where were you Sunday night?" Eames asked.

"And don't say you were at home, sleeping, or watching the game. Because you weren't. You were meeting up with Danielle to talk her into coming home." Goren stared at Hunt, who stared back.

"Well, you certainly don't waste any time," Hunt sat back. "I went to talk to her. But she stood me up. Her father gave me a name and an address... a guy who runs a whore house. He said he didn't know her, never heard of her, had never seen her." His shoulders slumped. "I didn't have much choice but to leave. So I did." He shrugged. "I'm sorry I didn't mention that before. The Senator asked me to stay as quiet as possible about Dani's ... activities."

"Well, we appreciate you coming clean with us now, Rob. If we could have that name and address, anyway," Goren pursed his lips.

"Of course." Hunt scribbled on a legal pad and tore off the sheet, handing it to Goren.

"Thank you." Eames smiled, and the detectives stood to take their leave.

At the door, Goren turned and looked back at Hunt, who watched them passively from behind his desk.

"One.. more thing, Mr. Hunt." Goren stood with his hand braced on the door frame. "How long had you been romantically involved with Ms. Sparks?"

_Watch for it._

Hunt's face went blank, then, just a second too late, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean, Detective? Dani and I ... weren't involved romantically."

"No?"

"No."

**Tuesday afternoon: The Bronx, equipped with a name and address.**

"No one gets a free ride." Marcus stubbed out a cigarette, and sat back. He and the detectives were sitting in his loft, which appeared to be under renovation.

"So Danielle was 'working' for you,"

"Yes. But I run a clean business. I'm not the kind of pimp you hear about."

"Of course you aren't," Eames muttered.

"Look, Dani was a smart girl. She wanted to be here. She wanted to do her own stuff.. not live under her dad's shadow. I just provided her with a business opportunity." He shrugged. "Listen, I don't get involved with the girls. I'm professional. But I liked Dani a lot. I respected her... and honestly, I think she was too good for this gig. But it was her choice to make. I didn't do this, and I don't know who did. I keep a detailed client list, but.. she wasn't working Sunday night."

"Do you know where she was?"

"Said she wanted to meet a friend for a drink. That's all I know." Marcus sighed. "I'm not eager to discuss my business with you, but since you found me.. I'll help you with whatever you need. Just find the son of a bitch who did it. My assistant is printing out the list of Dani's clients, and you're welcome to go through her rooms."

**Mid Afternoon, same day: Reviewing evidence over lunch.**

"I don't think he's _lying_," Goren rubbed his forehead.

"He doesn't know the answers to our questions. When you asked him about his books..." Eames was digging into her salad with gusto.

"He had to think about it. But he didn't look up or down, he went blank." Goren looked at her.

"He still didn't know the answer, but there was a switch."

"Switch.." He put his fist to his mouth thoughtfully.

"Alright, out with it."

"Switching. People with dissociative personality disorder ... well, they 'switch.'" Goren explained. "Your etch-a-sketch.. he was switching personalities." He pulled out his wallet. "C'mon. I have to check something. Let's get this wrapped up."


	5. The Plot Thickens

**Wednesday, December 7, 11:04 am: One PP**

"We checked phone records. There's compelling evidence that Hunt was the last one to see Danielle alive." Goren was explaining to Deakins.

"Bring him in."

Carver knocked on the open door and stepped into the office.

"This letter was just faxed to my desk requesting that Hunt not be brought in for an interview without evidence that he was involved in the murder, and he is not to be spoken to without his attorney present. No exceptions."

"That's.. unusual." Goren exchanged a look with Eames.

"One would think 'overprotective lawyer' were an oxymoron, but .. wow." Eames looked puzzled.

"It's extremely unusual, and I would laugh, if it weren't coming from the Archdiocese of New York." Carver smiled slightly.

"You're kidding," Goren stood up to look at the fax.

"I don't kid, Detectives." He sighed. "I suggest you do some more homework and get something more solid than phone records and gut instincts."

**A little while later, and no leads yet...**

"We can't get railroaded by the Archdiocese. I wanna know why our primary suspect can't be trusted to talk to us without a lawyer present at all times."

"I guess they don't want us shooting the shit with their client, Eames."

"Shucks."

They lapsed into silence, except for the sound of Eames typing rapidly on her laptop.

"Wait.. wait a minute." She muttered. "Carolyn Hunt... in 1992, Carolyn Hunt made an official complaint about a Father Simon, but it was withdrawn."

Instantly, Goren had crossed the distance between them and bent over her desk to read over her shoulder.

"And our boy has a sealed juvenile record."

"This just gets better and better," Goren muttered.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"A catholic priest, an altar boy, and thirteen years later, that altar boy has Dissociative disorder, and the protection of the church?" He had moved back to his desk and was flipping through a thick textbook. "Here," He pointed to a highlighted page and slid it towards her.

"'...97 to 98 of adults with dissociative identity disorder report abuse during childhood and that abuse can be documented for 85 of adults and for 95 of children and adolescents with dissociative identity disorder and other closely related forms of dissociative disorder.'" Eames read. "'Amnesia involving an inability to recall important personal information relating to some of the identities is present. Amnesia is not uniform in all personalities; what is not known by one personality may be known by another. Some personalities may appear to know and interact with other personalities in an elaborate inner world.'" She looked up at Goren. "Bobby..."

He nodded at her, and pulled the book back, slamming it shut.

"He doesn't know." She exhaled and sat back.

"I think someone else does."

"Let's find out who."


	6. It Begins

**Wednesday afternoon, 1PP.**

"Look no further," Deakins smiled as he approached their desks. "Meet Father Bryce. He's been Mr. Hunt's therapist for almost ten years."

A small man smiled briefly and nodded to the detectives.

"I would like to have a word with you regarding your investigation." He fingered a manila folder, and slipped it under his arm as Goren led him to a room.

"Please, have a seat, Father."

Eames shut the door as her partner sat across from Bryce. She sat at the head of the table.

"Robert is a troubled young man." Bryce began. He lay the manila folder flat on the table and folded his hands on top of it. "He has undergone significant stress in his young life, but has made remarkable strides in recovering and becoming a member of society once more."

Eames kept her eyes lowered, focusing on the notepad in front of her. She felt Goren tense at the phrase. She slowly raised her eyes to watch the priest.

"I have come here... against the advice of my colleagues." Bryce cleared his throat. "I have great respect for Robert, but I feel that by putting up a wall, we are hindering your investigation and casting unnecessary suspicion on him. He is not responsible for this heinous crime, Detectives."

"How can you be sure, Father?" Eames squinted at the priest, who scowled at her.

"I have been Robert's psychiatrist since he was fifteen."

"Then you know he has amnesia." Goren made little designs on the table top, looking up shyly at Bryce.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I mean.. Schitzophrenia. Amnesia is a symptom of it. So is his "absentmindedness." Only he doesn't know."

"Part of him might." Bryce said quietly.

"We need to talk to him." Eames interjected.

"The archdiocese won't allow it."

"Father, a part of him knows what happened to Danielle. I do not believe Robert is responsible any more than you do. Witnessing an event like that would shock anyone.." Goren watched the priest.

Bryce's face tensed as he debated, silently.

"I'll see what I can do, detectives." He nodded.

**December 8, 3:07 pm, 1PP interrogation room.**

Hunt, his attorney, and Father Bryce are seated around the table, along with Goren and Eames. It's unusually crowded.

"I don't understand why I'm here, detectives," Hunt smiled, his demeanor smug and slightly cocky.

"You were the last person to see Danielle." Goren grinned. "You might have left something out."

"No. I didn't leave anything out." Hunt shook his head, still cocky.

"Are you sure?" Eames leans forward. "What do you remember about that day, Robert?"

"I was supposed to meet up with her, but I didn't. She wouldn't tell me where she wanted to meet, so... I just went home."

"What time did you get home?" Eames took notes on a legal pad.

"Um.. I dunno. Late." He smiled, cocking his head at her.

"How late?" She smiled in return.

"I dunno. Four, I guess. Late."

"That is pretty late. What were you doing all that time?"

Hunt paused, and shifted.

"You don't know. You have 'lost time.' Things happen, time passes, and you don't remember it." Goren tilted his head to catch Hunt's eye.

"How'd you know?"

"What'd Father Bryce tell you you had? Schizophrenia? Anti-social personality disorder? The voices you hear sometimes?"

Hunt was staring wide eyed.

"You aren't schizophrenic, Robert. The voices you hear in your mind are... well, they're parts of yourself. What can you tell us about Danielle?"

Hunt's chin trembled, and his eyes darted from Goren to Bryce. His eyes suddenly went from dark and welled up to sharp and clear.

"Dani was a friend of mine."

"No she wasn't." Goren watched him.

"Yes she was. We were very close." Hunt's words were precise, and clipped.

"Were you intimate?"

"No. We didn't have that sort of relationship."

"What about Father Simon?"

The pupils of his eyes contracted into tiny points. He looked slowly around the table.

"Father Simon is incapable of speaking."

"I don't see why we need to discuss this, Detectives," Hunt's attorney interjected.

"You punished him." Goren said quietly.

"I regret not hurting him more." The voice was low, monotone.

"Why? What did he ever do to you?"

Goren sat forward, jerking back as Hunt slammed the table with his fists and hissed. He leaned so that his face was close to Goren's, staring into his eyes with his own, his pupils eerily tiny. Goren raised a hand to Eames.

"It takes five of us to remember. So that the rest of us can forget." Hunt's voice was a dry whisper. "All they do is remember. All they feel is pain. Father Simon cannot speak. His fingers will not bend to pray. No God will forgive him."

Hunt's attorney had gone pale. Bryce sat, wide eyed.

"What about Danielle? What did she do to you?" Goren glared at Hunt.

"Filthy whore. Filthy fucking whore." His voice rasped.

"You punished her."

"We pulled Simon's teeth, one by one. He screamed, but we tied him down." Hunt squinted at him, speaking with the slightest lisp. His tone had changed from a quiet monotone to a child-like banter. "It was the same thing with Dani, but we pulled her finger nails instead. She had pretty ones. We tried to save her, but she pushed us away. And then she got hurt, and we had to punish her."

"How did she get hurt?" Goren's tone was soft.

"A man did bad things to her. He touched her in bad places. And she cried. We were scared, he tied her up and hurt her."


	7. Insights and Allusions

**12.08.05: A bar that serves decent Margaritas, 11:00pm**

"You look tired."

"I am. The interrogation today.. it wore me out." Eames sipped her drink, and closed her eyes for a moment. Goren watched her, with compassion and a hint of concern.. and a hint of curiosity.

"Let's change the subject, then." He smiled, and she smiled in return. He too looked tired. His hair was messy, and 3 o'clock shadow was the understatement of the year. "Why'd you become a cop?"

".. I dunno, my dad was a cop. I wanted to help people." She shrugged, and smiled. "Why, why'd you become a cop?"

"It was the natural next step. I was in the army.. law enforcement was an obvious choice. Besides, protect and serve sounded a lot better than shoot to kill." He shrugged his large shoulders, and looked at the table for a moment.

When he looked back up, she could tell he had reorganized his thoughts, and was ready to fire another question. Somehow.. she knew he hadn't changed the subject at all.

"You didn't become a cop because of your dad, Alex." He watched her, before lowering his gaze. "Your dad couldn't have wanted his little girl to be working vice... walking around dressed like a hooker catching johns. And who was that helping anyway?" He looked up in time to catch the fire that lit her eyes briefly.

"Who was that helping? Are you kidding me?" She sucked in her breath and realized that he'd baited her. "Bobby..."

"Why'd you work that beat for as long as you did? I mean, I know you're tough, but you're no masochist." He laughed softly. "I just don't get it."

"How long has this been bugging you?"

"Since I read your file."

"Jesus.." She let out a low whistle. "It's been nagging you for five years?" A smile was beginning to play on her lips.

"Will you tell me?" His face softened into an appeal, but she ducked her head and shook it slowly.

"I dunno." She licked her lips and looked up at him again. "If I didn't do something _good _I would have done something _bad._" He didn't reply, just raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate. "Guys would drive around my neighborhood, near my high school... asking girls if they needed rides. I'm not talking about pimps and drug dealers. These were white guys, with nice cars, and wedding rings." She sighed. "If I didn't become a cop and clean them up the legal way, I would have taken it upon myself and cleaned them up in a decidedly _ill_egal way."

"Oh?" He sipped his beer.

"Bondage, castration, and asphyxiation. I had it all planned out."

"It's reassuring to know that my petite blonde partner is, deep down, a man hating serial killer."

"Shut up," She laughed and threw her balled up straw wrapper at him.

He knew she'd left out a chunk of her story, but ... pressing a woman who carried a gun, and had apparently hated a certain breed of man so much as to push herself into a miserable job for years.. well, that was just asking for more trouble than he was really willing to deal with at the moment. He thought about what she had just told him, and as he looked up, he realized she'd lighted on the same thing.

"Alex.."

"One of them.. his ... personalities.. one of them has a real beef." Her face tensed with thought.

"He had it all planned out."

"He didn't hit her anywhere else, just the face."

"Probably with the sole purpose of making her quiet."

"One of them was angry at her for rejecting him and everything he wanted so horribly, and another..."

"Was angry at her for accepting abuse he had forced on him." He rested his face in the V of his fingers and thumb.

"That's a gamble."

"I like these odds."


	8. It Ain't Over til it's Over

Carver was called in on it. Hunt wanted to talk to the detectives and the DA without his attorney present.

"I want a new lawyer." He said.

"That can be arranged." Carver folded his hands on the table, and looked up at Hunt.

What followed wasn't a confession. When new legal representation was found, a story came out that focused on his years of torture, rape and abuse at the hands of a priest, who was also a close friend of his family. This "priest" had apparently diagnosed some sort of problem in Hunt as a child, and held him for "observation" isolated and away from anyone who could help him.

Robert Hunt, or one of his personalities broke down and cried, but it wasn't a man weeping. It was a child. A little boy, trapped and condemned to relive his own private hell for the rest of his life. The howls of pain and anguish that filled the interrogation room were sounds none present would ever be able to erase from their memories. They had found their murderer...

**Later...**

"Alex, wait." Goren's voice was tight, and he slid his coat on slowly, after helping her into hers.

"I'm going to talk to Carver." She spoke very quietly.

He turned her to face him, and saw she was barely holding back tears.

"I'll go with you."

"We can't convict him. We _can't. _It's not right."

"I agree."

"I want that priest. I want that son of a bitch hog tied and roasted. I want him on a silver goddamn platter with an apple in his mouth."

Goren nodded.

**Deakins' office, even later:**

"I'm sorry." Deakins sighed.

"Sorry isn't good enough." Goren's voice was rising.

"This isn't our fight, Goren. There's a statute of limitations, and to pin a murder on someone who didn't physically commit the crime is the responsibility of Hunt's attorney, not the NYPD. Carver has a legal obligation, not to mention a _professional_ obligation to prosecute him."

"Hang professional, what about moral obligations? This isn't right!" Eames stared at her captain.

"I want the son of a bitch as badly as you do, Alex--"

"No, you don't!" She was shouting now, which silenced Deakins. "If you gave a shit, you wouldn't be standing in our way."

"Damn it. I _can't_ let you pursue this. It's your jobs, and your badges if I do. I want him. But there's nothing we can do! Even if the Archdiocese weren't pulling strings, we'd be hard pressed to build a case, but they ARE." He hung his head. "We have to let it go."

Eames opened the door and walked out, without another word. She made a beeline for her desk, and grabbed her coat. Goren stared hard at Deakins for a moment, then slammed his fist on the desk, causing the metal to bang loudly and reverberate. He too walked out without another word.


	9. Ease the Pain

"I intend to make a deal with his lawyer." Carver sat next to Eames. "I was in that interrogation, too. He has more than competent representation. And a novice could put together an excellent case overnight. I don't have any doubts that Hunt will be able to file suit against both the priest that raped and tortured him and the Archdiocese for intimidating him and his family until well after the statute ran out -- _that means_," He cut her off from interrupting, "that the case is still valid, and can be pursued. If the offending party or parties intimidated the victim into remaining silent, which is clearly the case here, the statute is void."

Goren sat stretched out in a chair, looking out of the window in Carver's office.

"Detective Goren.. what are your thoughts?"

"I don't like it." He shrugged, and looked over at Carver, an expression of defeat on his face. "This isn't justice."

"Hunt murdered an innocent young girl. We've gotten justice for her."

"What about justice for him?"

"His lawyer will sue." Carver stood up, and smoothed his suit. "And I expect she'll win."

**Late night, Eames' apartment. **

Massive attack thumped from the stereo. It was a quiet bass sound. _Dissolved Girl_ came on, and Eames sat back, she was drinking rum straight, and chasing it with a glass of orange juice over ice.

_"Shame, such a shame... think I kinda lost myself again. Day, yesterday, really should be leavin', but I stay."_

"Does this make me masochistic, sadistic, or narcissistic?" She smiled, slightly. Talking to herself was a habit, when she was alone and out of earshot. "What about you, Alex. _What about you?_ You're a cop's daughter. What did you do when you rebelled as a teenager?"

_"Say, say my name... I need a little love to ease the pain. Need a little love to ease the pain... It's easy to remember when it came. Cos it feels like I've been around here before. You're not my savior, but I still don't go. Feels like something that I've done before. I could fake it, but I'd still want more."_

"So fucking _pretty. _So fucking pretty. I fucked a guy twice my age. He gave me hundreds in cash, and wanted to see me twice a week. After the third time, I lay on the bathroom floor of his penthouse and wanted to die. It wasn't shame. It wasn't ... anything. It was the nothing that killed. That's what it was," She mumbled. "It was the nothing..."

Her face had been stoic, but it trembled, and she gulped the rum, feeling it burn her throat and stomach.

"I gave up finding a real man, so I settled for the opposite extreme." Her face was calm once more. "His voice.. it was deep, but had that twinge, that New York whine to it. I cringe every time I hear a man who sounds like him." She gasped, and doubled up, holding her forehead to her knees. She let the nearly empty glass of orange juice tip, then threw it so that it shattered against the wall.

Moments, seconds, hours later, the urgent thump that wasn't the bass of _Dissolved Girl _on repeat.

"Doesn't want to wake the neighbors," She muttered, swaying as she stood. She opened the door and put on an inappropriately cheerful grin. "Heya, partner."

"Alex.." Goren took her in.

Her hair was messed up and she wore jeans, tight jeans, and a ribbed white undershirt, no bra. She was drunk, holding the bottle in her hand, and he had just heard a crash of something breaking. She was grinning at him, and the expression in her eyes was one he never thought he'd see in her. It was a glint, a wicked, hateful glint. One that exposed her as dangerous, and wounded. He didn't wait for her to invite him in, as he knew she would. He walked into her, pulling her into his embrace, shutting the door with his foot.

The bottle of rum, which she had fortuitously closed before rising to answer the door, thumped to the floor, and her breath came in fits and starts. Her face buried in his wide chest. He smelled like cigarettes, rain, the faint lingering scent of his cologne, and yes... liquor. His fingers found her hair and gently stroked it. He cradled her in his arms and let her lean all her weight on him.

"We're too much alike," He whispered.

She shook with every breath, her entire body trembling. He lifted her easily, and plunked himself on her couch, with her in his lap. He held her against him, and she let her forehead rest in the place between his neck and his shoulder.

"We're supposed to stop them." She spoke almost directly into his ear. "We're supposed to get the bad guys. That's the job description. We're not supposed to give up and go home. This is our fight. This is what we're supposed to do."

He froze for a moment. In that moment, he considered it. He considered what it meant to be the law, to know it, to manipulate it. To break it. He knew if he went, she would too. He was the dam, this time. He was the only thing stopping them both from doing it.

"We're too much alike, Alex." He whispered again. "That's our strength." He folded his arms around her, and held her until they both fell asleep.

_Fin. _Please R&R.


End file.
